


Asmodeus, An Astounding Ardor

by KaliYugaFan



Category: Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Malebranche fuckery, Multi, Politics, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliYugaFan/pseuds/KaliYugaFan
Summary: Getting to first base with Truck-Kun? Typical. Being sent off into an ecchi harem light-novel series by a sarcastic ROB? Yeah, I mean who hasn't, really. Collecting all the waifus? Par the course. Being resurrected as a two-bit villain with 30 seconds of screentime? Alright, this officially blows. I'm Creuserey Asmodeus, and this is how I saved the universe, and got some coochie.
Relationships: Asia Argento/Hyoudou Issei, Creuserey Asmodeus/Harem, Hyoudou Issei/Le Fay Pendragon, Shalba Beelzebub/His Right Hand, Sirzechs Lucifer/Grayfia Lucifuge
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

Newsflash, friends: dying isn't pleasant. Speaking from experience here, it really fucking bites. One moment you're on your way out the door of your studio apartment, adjusting your tie and stepping out to start up your piece-of-shit Subaru Legacy. You're nearly late and you really need to book it to get to the office on time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Bumped-Into-Before-Lunch, AKA your boss at the legal firm where you intern before class, is not exactly the forgiving sort, and you already know he'll waste even more of your time whinging before he lets you actually get to work. All in all, not a pleasant time for anyone involved.

So, maybe you didn't exactly look both ways before you crossed the little street to get to the parking lot where your faithful shit-box of nearly two hundred thousand miles was parked. Honestly, barely anybody drives out here, it's practically not even a real street for god's sake! Of course, being the unfortunate soul that you are, you end up giving a big fat smooch right to the grill of Truck-kun. After that, Truck-kun decides to get a little adventurous with this first-base experience, thoroughly exploring your tongue, the inside of your mouth, your neck, and finishes the whole sordid affair with a glorious exit. Through the back of your head.

Yeah, if you're slow to catch on, this isn't a hypothetical. I got absolutely pulverized by a truck. My head blew up like a ripe watermelon betwixt a female bodybuilder's thighs, and though that would totally be an awesome way to go out, it's not quite the same experience when the female bodybuilder in question is actually a U-Haul truck. You know what? This is actually nothing like being lovingly crushed by a female bodybuilder, what the fuck am I even saying?

So yeah, I'm dead. Dead as fuck. Completely dead. Soul has left body, head has left shoulders, innocence has left U-Haul driver. I'm sure you get the picture by now. What happens next, you may ask? Solid question, and one I'm still more or less pondering. My personal thoughts on the afterlife were pretty generic: tunnel of light, pearly gates, judging my sins, the whole nine yards. I've been a Baptist since I was 20, and though I'm not the most faithful lamb of god by any means, I do my best to go to sermon on Sundays and generally not be a complete shit-bag of a human being. Heaven should be pretty sweet, right? Peace, love, all that Kumbaya shit? That's always sounded like a good deal to me, so I like to think I've made a decent effort at being a good person.

Turns out that either my shitty luck has continued even into the afterlife, or my predictions are way off. Let me try to put the scene before me into words for you folks. White. Okay, maybe not words so much as word. But you guys can't blame me, because that's all it is. Just fucking white all around me. I've got my head, or at least I think I do, since I can clearly see myself. All around me, white. Do I even have depth perception? I literally can't tell where the white begins or ends. There's not a horizon or anything, and my body (soul?) isn't casting a shadow, so I've got absolutely no clue where any light is coming from. Am I hallucinating? These could be like my last thoughts, as my brain was turned into Jamba Juice by that front bumper. Fuck, why didn't I have cool last thoughts! Okay, I've still got time. Think cool shit, come on, think cool shit!

"Uhhh... 1969 Lincoln Continentals! Going to the opening show of the Yeezus Tour! Competing at State for Wrestling in High School! Freshman year Syllabus Week! Losing my virginity! Wait, fuck, that one was kinda lame and forgettable. Okay, okay, uh, anime titties! Anime titties!? Fucking hell, I really am pathetic. I hope God doesn't hold this one against me. Sorry Big Guy, but 3d women aren't valid! If that's bad enough for me to go hell, I just hope Satan isn't into NTR doujin!" Okay, now I'm really asking for it. Shit, stupid brain, stupid anime titties, stupid Truck-kun, shit shit shit! Why am I even in this weird-ass white landscape? What kind of stupid afterlife is this?!

[Ahem... Are you quite done?]

Ahhh! What the fuck?! There's another person here? "Oh god, did they hear my monologue about Satan and NTR? Am I speaking or thinking right now?" Fuck!

[Definitely speaking, mortal.]

"Where's that voice coming from? Are you God? I take it back! Please don't make me read NTR doujin with Satan! I want to go up to Heaven! We can read wholesome fluff stories about hand-holding and true love! I promise I'm a good roommate, I clean the dishes on time and I don't even come home wasted on weekends anymore!"

[Uh...]

Oh God, please don't send me to Hell!

[You know what, forget this. I had this entire amazing entrance scene planned out. There was a speech, and I was going to come down with a big "whump" noise like they do in those super-hero films the casuals among your kind enjoy so much, and it was going to be more impressive than anything you've ever seen. Guess what's not going to happen now?]

"Uh... your super cool entrance?"

[Bingo, kid. Bingo. We are no longer going to do that, because you look like you're about to soil your pants, and I am rapidly losing brain cells the longer I'm near you.]

"Hey... Are you calling me dumb?"

[Ah, so the life-form does have intelligence after all!]

Yeah, you're definitely calling me dumb, aren't you? "Stupid asshole God, stupid Truck-kun, stupid boss, stupid Subaru Legacy..." I'm totally muttering right now like a bitch, aren't I?

[...I'm going to ask this politely and slowly, because I already know the alternative is too messy for these clothes. Please. Stop. Talking.]

Got it!

[Ah, silence, thou art a balm for mine weary heart.]

Do I still have to be silent?

[No, no. Don't speak. Just let me have this peace for now.]

Alright, this is getting kind of hard. I've got a boat-load of questions, and the Weird Voice wasn't quite accurate when he said I looked like I was about to soil my pants. Sort of beat him to the chase on that one, actually. It's rather uncomfortable, and if he's God he can probably just poof me up some new clothes, right? "Hey, uh... God?"

[Sigh... Yes, mortal?]

"Uh, well, I know you said no talking and all, but, ah, well it's kinda awkward and all... hehe..." I petered off, doing my best to look away.

[Please, for the love of all that is good, spit it out.]

"Can I get some new pants?"

[...]

Yeah, in case you didn't read that, it means silence. It's very, very silent. You know what awkward silence is like? You probably don't know what awkward silence is like when it's interrupted by the drip-drip-drip of warm liquid on the alabaster mindscape of the afterlife, courtesy of your pissed pants. None of this has been pleasant, but this is downright unpleasant. My thigh feels very damp, and it's not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

Wooh, new pants! Oh man, that feels great. It's not even damp anymore, thank you God! That was getting awful, my leg was starting to get jumpy and everything. "Thanks God! What brand are these? They're really comfy!"

[They are a construct of my will, given corporeal shape by my power and wrapped around you to form a cocoon of my holy protection. But I am going to take a wild guess here and say that what I just said does not mean a single thing to you, so just pretend they are Ralph Lauren.]

Yeah, he's got my card there, I don't know what any of that means. Roll with the punches, just pretend they're your favorite slacks that your mom got you for your birthday two years ago. "You've got great taste, God! We should go to the next sale at Nordstrom's together to pick up more of these!"

[Hard pass. Now, onto what we are here for. I am the assigned director of this sector of the universe, the all-powerful Universal Dimensional Guardian, also known as-]

"Are you a ROB?"

[...yes. Yes, I am a ROB.]

"Am I going to get Isekai-ed?"

[Yes, yes you are going to get Isekai-ed, mortal. Now, as I was saying, I am the Universal Constant #34, known to all as the Great Watcher, the Guiding Hand of the Multiverse and the Plucker of Strings-]

Alright, this is either going to end really badly or it's going to be the coolest shit ever. Please don't be Berserk, please don't be Berserk, please don't be Berserk! Fuck, not Attack on Titan either! Oh God, what if I end up in Warhammer? Fuck, fuck, fuck this is bad!

[-I who am infinitely aware, I see all, I move among the universes like a flowing river and help the heroes of each world float to the top and- Are you even listening?]

Oh, he was still talking. Shit, okay. I picked my ear as if there was earwax in the afterlife, and looked at the ROB rather sheepishly. "Eh heh... sorry about that, Robby, got distracted a bit... Say, I've been pretty good in life, right? Like, good enough to not get sent to a horrible GrimDark nightmare world where the universe only knows war and despair?"

[Alright, first of all my name is NOT fucking Robby. Don't ever call me that again.]

Mou! It's so hard remembering all those titles though! I guess I don't want to offend the being who controls my life now though... "Ehh, sorry about that, Mr. ROB sir!"

[...and somehow you call me something even more outrageously stupid. Just... ugh, just stick with Robby.]

At this, I could somehow hear the omnipotent super-God creature thing audibly retch at his own words. Robby isn't such a bad name, what's his problem? One of my best friends was named Robby, and he's a very successful real estate agent now!

"Alright Robby, but really though! Am I going to be punished for my sins by being sent to a crapsack world of pain and misery?"

[The idea gains more merit in my mind the longer I am near you, Mortal. But alas, the Council has already decided on your location. There are roles that need to be filled, and it will be your duty to correct certain imbalances in this location.]

Yes! Oh thank you God, thank you Robby, thank you Truck-kun! I'm not going to die in 40k! Or Berserk! Or Attack on Titan! Sinking down to my knees (man these pants really have some solid stretch denim in them!) I bow at Robby's feet in prostration, my joy flowing forth like a raging river. "Oh thank you Robby! I was so worried for a second there! Oh, thank God!"

[Ahem... Yes, quite. As I was saying, there are imbalances in this world, certain aspects that have been lost that endanger the world's continued existence. Normally, we would let the course of events flow naturally, and let the world in question reap what it sowed. However, within the last year, we have noticed irregularities in these imbalances that may threaten to spill out into other worlds. Now, it has become a multiversal problem as opposed to a universal one, and we are required to step in. After all, we are the only ones allowed to tamper with multiverse travel.]

Ehh?! Multiple universes in danger? This sounds like a big mess! But... why am I involved? "Hey, Robby... how come it's me? I'm just a 22 year old with a part-time job and an almost-finished bachelor's. How come you guys couldn't get like, 1970's Arnold Schwarzenegger to handle it or something?"

[First of all, we don't deal with time travel, we deal with dimension hopping. Go talk to the morons at the Universal Timestream Guardians for that sort of thing. Secondly, the Council had you picked out since birth, the incident with the automobile was simply fortuitously timed.]

"Oh, that's a relief! For a second there I thought you planned out my death so you could resurrect me as some sort of servant and never tell me, instilling some sort of false loyalty that you could use for your own advancement in a strange society that I was going to be thrust in without warning!"

[Alright, just think of the signing bonus... Three months paid vacation, no more dealing with UC76 shooting his stupid guns at 5 in the morning... Think of the signing bonus, just think of the signing bonus...]

"Eh, you alright there Robby? You're kind of freaking me out here, bud."

[Ahem, yes, mortal I am fine. Perfectly fine. Now, as I was saying, we need you to ingratiate yourself with those responsible for these irregularities, and stop them at their source. In addition, there are certain aspects that have been lost that must be restored for a particular sector of society to flourish again. This sector is highly important for the general well-being of the world as a whole.]

Alright! Get cozy with the bad guys, save the day, restore the power, this is just like Mission Impossible! "Sounds swell, Robby! So, what world am I going to?"

[Your presence is required in the Underworld, to stop the machinations of the own known as Euclid Lucifuge.]

Underworld? That's pretty vague, lots of universes have Underworlds, that could be anything... Wait, did he just say Lucifuge?! "Robby, be straight with me here bud. Are you sending me to an ecchi light novel series about the Supernatural?"

[That would be correct, yes.]

"The same light novel series where breasts ignore gravity and power levels ignore suspension of disbelief?"

[That is certainly one description of the world, yes.]

"The very same best-selling ecchi light novel series where the main character gets all of the plot-relevant ladies to fall madly in love with him and join his harem?"

[Are you just reading off the Amazon e-book description now?]

"Two more questions, Robby."

[Sigh... Go ahead, mortal. Please make them short.]

"You're not like the editors, are you?"

[I'm not sure I understand what that means.]

"Like, you're not going to... you know, stop me from actually getting the goods?"

[If you are insinuating that I would intervene in the wake of your coitus, let me remind you that there is a reason why I am number 34 of the Universal Constants.]

"Ah, cool, cool. Last question, Robby. Since I've got a ROB as my patron in this world, I guess whoever I inhabit is like the new main character instead of Issei, right?"

[You could certainly make that argument, yes. I am vastly above any beings confined to this one paltry dimension of reality.]

"Okay, okay. So I'm the new main character in a borderline-hentai light novel series about supernatural fighters with giant breasts, and you're not going to cockblock me from actually scoring some coochie."

[While needlessly vulgar and disturbingly childish for a man in his 20's, that is essentially correct. In fact, the missing aspect here is quite relevant to your question. The Seven Deadly Sins are no longer embodied by their respective Princes of Hell, and we need you to fix that. Fittingly, you are in charge of Lust. You'll eventually have to get the others to work on their Aspects as well, but for now, focus on your own domain.]

"Well why the fuck didn't you just start off with that, Robby?!"

[I really don't get paid enough for this...]

"They pay you? Is there like a union for you guys? Do ROB's have collective bargaining?"

[Please, please just leave and don't try to contact me unless it's incredibly urgent.]

With that, there was a sound like a thousand gongs being rung at once, and I could feel my soul spinning down into nothingness. With a startling lack of transition, my eyes snapped open and I sat up from my bed, panting heavily. I was in some sort of lavish bedroom, clearly expensive carpets lining the floor and finely carved wooden furniture around me. The room was massive, probably the size of my whole studio apartment back in the Northwest. I was lying on a four-poster bed that could probably fit half a dozen people, with beautifully carved tapestries shrouding me on all four sides. The sheets alone could fund a dictator of a small country! Where was I? Who was I?

Suddenly, an urgent pounding on the door, loud like a gunshot with each knock. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. "Hello?" I called out, hoping to Robby and whoever else that would listen that I was still a grown man and not a child or God forbid, a woman. Ow! Okay, definitely Devil. Let's see here, opulently decorated room. Knocking politely but firmly instead of walking in. Hands? Pale, unblemished by scars. Pajamas? Very nice silk, extravagance bordering on garish. Pure-blood Devil? Probably.

The knocking hadn't stopped, and in fact had grown more urgent. I should probably go see who it was. Shakily standing up, I pulled aside the curtains surrounding the bed, stepping out of my seated position with the sort of fluidity I had certainly never possessed as a human. Wow, I feel fucking fantastic, actually!

I walked to the door, smoothly opening it. Before me stood a woman of average height. She had rather cute square glasses, brown hair going down into two thin ponytails and holy shit are those tits huge. Absolutely massive knockers, outstanding work ma'am. Those are a real treasure. She had on some sort of strange coat-esque get-up, with a high collar and a massive cutout diamond where her chest was. A pink undershirt (barely) preserved her modesty, and I could clearly see nipples poking out. Two sleeves went up her arms, ending halfway between her shoulder and elbow, adorned with golden bangles. The coat went down into a rather chic mini-skirt, and underneath she had on black stockings. High-heeled shoes that any human woman would kill for completed the ensemble. Man, what a woman.

I'm totally staring, aren't I? Fuck, I'm here for like three minutes and I'm already looking like a lecher. Is this a good or a bad thing?

"Uh... hey." I rasped out, trying my absolute best to appear suave and not a complete moron. Judging by her irked expression, I'm going to say it didn't quite work out.

"Why the fuck are you still in your pajamas, Creuserey? We have a meeting with the rest of the Faction in an hour!"

Wait one god(ow)damn minute, I'm WHO!?


	2. 99 Problems, Most Of Them Bitches

So... I'm Creuserey now. You know, the guy with the pointy elf ears and the goofy black and red get-up? Pretty tall, deep voice, looks like a Record of Lodoss War character, lasts 30 seconds of screen-time before getting summarily murked by Sirzechs? That Creuserey? Yeah, I'm in that guy's body now. Okay, time to work some magic, save the multiverse, not get killed, and get my dick wet.

Katerea, and wow is it weird seeing her in real life as opposed to on a TV screen, is still looking at me rather impatiently, and I realize at this point that I've been staring like a dead fish at her for at least a good ten seconds. Coughing quietly into my fist to clear my throat, I finally manage to tear my eyes away from her gigantic assets and straighten my spine, now towering over her by a good half a foot or more. "Ahem, my apologies. Please let Shalba know that I won't be able to make it to the meeting today. Have one of the foot-soldiers send me the meeting minutes or something, I've got something rather important to work on at the moment and it's time-sensitive. I won't make a habit of this, I swear." That's got to be at least passable, right? Arrogant, a little stiff, but not a complete dick; I think I can work with this.

The other Satan descendant looks at me owlishly behind her square-rimmed glasses, as if looking for some sign of illness, and already I can feel my resolve crumbling in the wake of her inquisitive gaze. It's not nearly as easy to keep up a facade as you would think, especially when everybody around you is liable to reduce you to atoms if they detect that something is off. A random human from another dimension inhabiting your former best buddy's body? That definitely qualifies as off. Regardless, she nods sharply after a moment, seemingly satisfied with her silent questioning. "This better be important, Creu. Wrap it up quickly and make sure to be at the next meeting. We need to present a united front or these disgusting humans will try to gain control. Whatever you're working on, don't let it jeopardize our control of the Khaos Brigade." Creu? What the fuck kind of dumb nickname is Creu? Am I a god(ow)damn Despicable Me character?

With that little speech, she turns smoothly on one heel and walks out, leaving me standing awkwardly in the doorway, still clothed in an incredibly comfortable but altogether inappropriate pair of silk pajamas. Somehow, I manage to resist the temptation to watch her walk away, though God(ow) knows it would have been a sight for the ages. Ah well, I can ogle her delightful derriere after I make sure I'm not going to die the moment I step outside of my bedroom. For now, it's time to get to work.

The first thing I do is shut the door, lock the comically large padlock above the doorknob, the second padlock at the bottom of the door, the third padlock at the top of the door, and some weird twisty knob thing that lets off an audible click when I turn it 180 degrees. Fuck it, it's some kind of lock, might as well be thorough. Now that I've got at least an illusion of security within my own bedroom, I immediately sink into a crossed leg position on the lush rug, resting the back of my head against the foot of the bed. "Hey, uh, Robby? I know you said not to contact you unless it was important, but I'm a bit out of my depth here. There's not exactly a calendar in this room, and I know damn well Katerea is going to suspect something if I ask her what the year is. When exactly am I?"

A few moments of silence, and I'm just about ready to get up and find my answers the old-fashioned way, probably by strong-arming the nearest OSF foot-soldier into giving me some information and then hopefully figuring out my magic and killing him so nobody suspects anything. Finally, my prayers (and isn't that ironic) are answered, and I feel a dull thrum behind my eyes, and the clarion voice of my all-too-tired benefactor.

[Good morning, Mortal. This certainly counts as urgent; as useless as you are, it would reflect poorly on me if I sent you out into the wilds without any information. It is currently 2007; you have roughly a year before Issei and the Fallen Angel Raynare meet. Ask me everything you need to know now, I wish to not hear from you for a long time.]

Though harsh, I can more or less understand where Robby is coming from. I really bungled my first interaction with the deity, didn't I? Eh, nothing to do about it now; I was delirious as hell and more than a little surly about work. Hopefully I can just accomplish what I'm here for and we can leave on decent terms. "Okay, so I've got a little more than a year before shit really hits the fan. And my goal here is to stop the ExE events, right? How exactly am I supposed to do that?" I whisper, as calmly as I can.

[I don't particularly care. There are no limitations on the how, though I would prefer that you don't do something even worse than multiversal tampering.]

"Yeah, I get that. I guess I just really want to know what I'm working with here. I watched a little bit of the show and I've read all the light novels, but Creus- I mean I have practically no role. I show up, I'm mad that Katerea is a corpse, and I immediately get atomized by Lucifer. I don't even know what my Clan Trait is, or what my specialties in the OSF are supposed to be."

[Ah, I see. I will do my best to explain your abilities, though experimentation and training with said power is of course your responsibility. The Asmodeus was known for his powers of poisons, ailments and afflictions. The official name, if such things matter to you, would be the Power of Entropy. Access your power and do what feels most natural; it shall come to you more easily than other schools of magic. I have also granted you a boon for your second task. You will have to unlock this on your own as the Lord of Lust.]

"So, poison? Alright, anything else that I need to know?" I can work with poison, I think. It probably won't let me last any longer against Sirzechs, or really any of the beings I'll have to eventually face, but I'm supposed to be an Ultimate-Class Devil for a reason, right? I just need to fight smart, and use every cheat and dirty tactic I can get my hands on, and maybe, just maybe, I'll survive this. Though, the second part is interesting. Robby said I have to embody the Sin of Lust in this world, and he's given me something specifically for that? I doubt it'll be great for fighting, but I'm not exactly going to be upset if he gives me a huge cock or mega-pheromones or something. Surviving won't be much fun if I can't enjoy myself as well, after all.

[The original Satan Asmodeus, your ancestor, wielded a weapon known as the Archstar. He was as famous for this mace as he was for his Power of Decay. You should have a pseudo-empathic connection with the Archstar that will make it somewhat easier to find and bond with the weapon, but it is completely up to your discretion as to whether or not you will use the mace or not. Your canon counterpart did not.]

Well, isn't that just fucking great. You had access to some ancestral super-weapon and you didn't bother tracking it down? Dumb move, canon-me. Dumb move indeed. Alright, time to wrap this up. "I appreciate the advice, Robby. I won't bother you again unless it's urgent."

[Farewell for now, Mortal. I'm sure your useless endeavors will force me into offering advice again in the near future.]

Again, harsh but understandable. You only get one first impression, and I fucked mine up badly. "Yeah, sounds good." And with that, Robby was gone, and I could feel sweet, beautiful relief in my head once more. It had become manageable rather quickly, having a head in your voice, but now that it was gone I could feel myself loosen and relax just a tad. I need a plan. I need a detailed, but fairly straightforward plan, with enough room for interpretation that I can adapt quickly as Rizevim, Sirzechs, or anyone will inevitably fuck it all to Kingdom Come. Standing up and stretching out, I quickly walk over to my dresser, trying very hard to not stare at myself in the enormous mirror across from me. Clothes. I can't stay in my pajamas all day, as lovely as it would be. Creuserey's a big-shot OSF devil with a lot of power and a massive ego, I'm sure he's got an impressive closet to work with.

Ah, here we go. Dark grey cotton slacks, slim but not overtly skinny. A navy turtleneck hugs my lean torso and draws attention to the triangle formed by my wide shoulders and my narrow waist. Some calf-high black leather boots, polished to a shine and with a healthy cuban heel. Creuserey is obviously the arrogant sort, so I pick out a rather gaudy belt black belt with faintly visible monograms visible on the leather. A sturdy looking tactical vest to match the color of the pants, and I'm ready for action. At first I thought it would be prudent to mimic the outfit Creuserey dons in his singular canon appearance, but I'll be dead before I wear that stupid coat and cloak get-up.

Now that I'm dressed for success and have a vague idea of what I'm capable of, it's time to set up a plan of some sort. I know my goals: stopping Euclid from opening up the portals to the ExE universe, or God(ow) forbid, something even worse, and becoming the Lord of Lust. How do I do these things? Well, obviously I have to stay alive. That means not getting atomized by Sis-Con Lucifer, chopped up into some kind of freakish experiment by Sis-Con Lucifuge, tortured into insanity by The Other Lucifer, or catching the attention of pretty much the majority of the named characters. That's... well, not impossible, but it does make my job incredibly difficult. Luckily, I should have a year before things start happening, and probably fifteen months before the Khaos Brigade shenanigans kick off. I can work with that.

First up, Magic. Devil Magic is generally thought of as the most over-powered form of magic, and while I understand that "imagination-based powers" sounds like a shortcut to overwhelming power, it's really not that simple. In addition to the "power of imagination," a Devil also needs the "power to create," and some good old-fashioned common sense, though the jury is still out on that last bit. So, what can I do with Entropy? Well, there's poison in a liquid form, obviously. I slow my breathing down, smoothly breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Once I think I'm as calm as I can be under the circumstances, I try to imagine a thin layer of poison coating the tips of my fingers, not touching or affecting me but hovering a tenth of a millimeter above my skin. My poison has to be able to eat through anything, dissolve anything, or I'm absolutely going to fucking die. I need to maintain concentration, but thankfully my current body is definitely used to this sort of thing. Cracking open one eye, I can clearly see a purplish miasma above my nails, wavering slightly in the air but certainly there. We can't call it a success without a trial run, of course, so I take a step forward, swiping my hand at a nearby cabinet. Immediately, I can hear a sizzle and a smell like a decaying corpse. What should have been a rather light tap with my fingertips against the wood ended up carving gouges through the cabinet, and I can clearly see the purple haze eating through the rest of the wood. Within the span of three seconds, the whole cabinet is gone, the acidic magic having eaten through it entirely.

Okay, so a semi-solid form is definitely combat-viable. Can it eat through magic? Time to test that out. Focusing on the concept of a barrier, and drawing on memories that are certainly not my own, I set up the strongest shield that Creusirey would be capable of whipping up on the fly. It's not incredibly impressive or anything, but it's strong enough to repel most Middle-Class or High-Class attacks, a very solid looking wall of sickly green light that has a dull glow. Can it hold up against a swipe of my Entropy?

The answer: kind of? It definitely holds up much longer than the cabinet did, but I can see the purple marks left in the greenish barrier slowly widen and spread out, eating through the shield over the course of perhaps fifteen seconds. Alright, so magical material at a High-Class takes about five times longer to process than organic material. As much as I would like to test out something stronger, an Ultimate-Class shield for instance, I don't have the time, and that kind of magical output is definitely going to attract attention. Though, this does bring up a rather strange point. For an Old Satan Faction leader who was obviously quite proud of his heritage, why didn't Creusirey start out with this sort of magic? Instead, he just showed up, used the Ophis Snake, and then died.

As much as I would like to bemoan the lack of foresight this body's previous inhabitant held, I really don't have the time. Semi-solid is good to go, time to move on. I thought of perhaps having some sort of long-range attack, imagining a thin sliver of the strongest poison I can come up with. It shoots out with barely a sound, eating through the wall of my bedroom and vanishing. That... probably wasn't my smartest idea, to be honest. Hopefully nobody important got hit by that. Alright, let's try this with a shield set up.

I give this barrier a little bit more "juice," if you will, and it's probably powerful enough to repel any sort of attack from a High-Class Devil. Now that I've got my target in place, I just need to adjust the sliver to be even smaller, as tight and tiny as I can manage, imbue it with the value of "entropy," and... there we go. The attack is minuscule, probably the size of a grain of sand. With a flick of my finger (I have real-life finger guns now, fuck yes!) I send the attack at the barrier. This time, it is drastically less silent. A boom like a thunderclap echoes within my room, and the shield is cracked like a shattered windowpane. I can still the residual poison on the corners of each crack, eating through the remains dramatically quickly. Turns out compression is a real life-saver, huh?

The Power of Destruction is basically disintegrating everything it comes into contact with, but something tells me it can't be quite that simple. It doesn't disintegrate the air, does it? What if I expanded my Power of Entropy from a liquid to a gaseous form? A hot gas is even less dense than a cold gas, so what if I'm attacking with some kind of heated aerosol? Try to disintegrate a 100 cubic meter cloud of super-heated mustard gas, you bitch. And what about radiation? I mean, it's literally called nuclear decay, that's got to be relevant to the Power of Entropy. Devils don't really get sick by natural means, but I doubt blasting them with the equivalent of several nukes' worth of nuclear radiation will be pretty. It only takes 5 Gy of absorbed fallout to kill a human, and the victims at Hiroshima were hit with almost 10. What will 500 do to a Devil? How about 50,000? Actually, fuck that. Who needs a nuke? I've got motherfucking gamma radiation at my disposal.

And with that absolutely morbid thought process, I think it is definitely time for me to go outside. The clock says it's been nearly six hours since I ghosted Katerea and locked myself in here. My room is ruined, but I'm rich, so I'll just get some grunt to take care of this shit. I've got exactly one thing on my mind right now, and that is food. The locks take a few minutes of fiddling to properly unlock, and as I close my door on the way out, I hit the door with a magical circle, thinking of the innate properties of "locked." That should probably serve a lot better for privacy purposes than a dumb old padlock anyways.

There's got to be some sort of kitchen, dining room, or hell, even a cafeteria in this place, and thankfully Creusirey's original memories are useful in this regard. It takes perhaps a minute of walking for me to step into a rather large dining room, decorated with tasteful famous paintings (probably the originals, now that I think of it) and a great oaken table large enough to seat two dozen people. There's only six chairs at the moment, and two are occupied. Oh, lovely, I came here for a snack, and of course I immediately bump into my two best buds.

"Ah... hello, Katerea, Shalba. Pleasant afternoon we're having, no?" I am so screwed.


	3. Awkward Conversations at the Dinner Table

It's important to note that this is my first time seeing Shalba in the flesh, and for a moment I'm irrationally jealous. He's about as tall as I am, with broader shoulders, a mane of brown hair that looks effortlessly tousled, and most importantly, he's not paper white with elf ears. Why couldn't I be in this asshole, instead of the current asshole I inhabit? Though, to be fair, he did go absolutely bonkers and tried to drop the equivalent of a magical nuke on the entire Underworld because he lost one fight, so I suppose it's a mixed bag. I died like a bitch, but at least I didn't barely live like a bitch and then die like a bitch.

He's dressed in some sort of formal lounge-wear, if that makes any sense; essentially a smoking jacket and some slim cotton slacks in a shade a few darker than my own. A silk cravat is tied rather elegantly around his neck, and I can see the gleam of multiple rings on the hand currently holding his chalice. It's all very Hugh-Hefner-meets-Conan-the-Barbarian, to be quite frank. Shalba is seated at the end of the table, the seat generally reserved for the patriarch, and I can already see this for what it is: a power play, one of many which I'll have to face if I want to do anything relevant with my new life. Katerea is seated off to his left in the same outfit I saw her in this morning, her back arched perfectly in the lush chair, the very image of propriety. She's obviously going for the stern mistress shtick here, and it'd probably work on anybody who didn't watch her giant tits flop out after losing badly to Azazel and Fafnir's bullshit fake Sacred Gear. Try a little harder next time hun, and maybe buy a more sturdy dress.

They're both looking at me expectantly, clearly having waited for me to leave my room and come out to chat. I really hope that I didn't send my initial long-range poison beam into any of their rooms; that's a conversation I'd prefer to never have. Of course, this whole interaction can be categorized under "conversations I'd prefer to never have," but it's probably a bit too late for me at this point. Ah well, nothing to do for it than to bite the bullet. "Ah... hello, Katerea, Shalba. Pleasant afternoon we're having, no?"

If it was at all possible, Katerea looks even more disapproving at my opening comment, and internally I'm sweating like a stuck pig. Why do I always fuck these things up?! Luckily, Shalba intercedes before the Leviathan descendant can chew my head off. "Good afternoon indeed, Creu. We missed you at the meeting today. I hope whatever kept you away from it was worth investigating, no?" He sounds perfectly sincere, and only a previous lifetime of being a supremely sarcastic asshole myself allows me to detect the derision in his tone. He's the cruel sort, the type to string along both the innocent and the guilty for his enjoyment. I'll have to watch myself around this man, vastly more than I would around someone more straightforward like Katerea.

"Ah, yes, that would be correct. I have recently tracked down an object of immense interest to our faction. I feel that the time I devote to retrieving and harnessing it will be well worth any absences from official Khaos Brigade functions. In fact, you could go as far as to say it would serve as a power boost equal to those snakes that the Ouroboros Dragon gifted us with." There, that should certainly draw his attention. A power boost that compares to a fraction of the Infinite? Even the most humble of men would be drawn towards potential like that, and Shalba is anything but humble.

My prediction is proven correct when I can practically see the interest in his gaze, Shalba leaning forward and placing down his cup as he steeples his hands underneath his chin and stares at me through the fringe of his long brown hair. Oh fuck, I'm getting hit with the Gendo Ikari Special! "Oh, indeed? That would certainly be a good reason to skip a meeting, I suppose. So, Creu, tell us, what is this almighty tool that you've found for us?"

For us? Nah, fuck you buddy, it's for me. Obviously, I can't say that, so I go for the next best thing. Long-winded exposition time! "Tell me, Shalba, Katerea, how much do we truly know of our ancestors, the Four Great Satans? Of course we know our familial history from a genealogical perspective, and we are rightfully proud of our heritage as the true descendants of the greatest Devils to ever live. I'm sure you grew up on stories of the conquests and deeds of might accomplished by the Bloody Mace, The Great Deceiver, the Lord of the Flies, or the Sea Dragon of the End. I certainly know that I did. But how much of those stories are true, and how much are fanciful exaggerations? We Devils have longer memories than those wretched humans, this is certainly true, but even we have lost some measure of the truth in the centuries since the Great War. With that, I believe that we have also lost a measure of power for the taking. The Fake Satans currently occupying our rightful thrones have wasted no time in accruing power, and it would be no lie to say that the false Lucifer could strike us down with nary a thought. The Sitri masquerading as a Leviathan is an unparalleled master of Ice Magic, the false Beelzebub almost on par with Sirzechs Gremory, and the less said about the man who has stolen my name, the better. We are strong Devils, no doubt. Our blood is testament to our destiny as rulers, and the might of our Clan Traits has earned us the title of Ultimate-Class."

Shalba's rather invested stare grows duller by the moment, and it's obvious that he's bored and a little offended at my rather frank summary of our situation. "Is this object of great power a history lesson, Creu?" He bites out, very nearly glaring at me by the time I'm done. Katerea is no better, the hateful look in her eyes and the tightening of skin around her mouth clear signs that my mention of the Sitri pretender has irked her greatly. It's incredibly awkward for me right now, but better they hear it from me than find out the hard way, right? They're certainly not good people by any stretch of the imagination, but they are one more layer between me and Sirzechs' Power of Destruction, so I'll take what I can get.

"The point, dear Shalba," I match him with equal sarcasm, "is that we're not strong enough. None of us are. The three of us could consume a dozen more of those snakes from the Ouroboros, charge our strongest attacks for minutes on end, hit Sirzechs Gremory dead on, and perhaps if we're lucky, perhaps we may displace a few locks of his disgusting crimson mane. In case you have forgotten, the Four Pretenders' claim that they are stronger than our ancestors is not an empty one. They have surpassed the men whose name they have stolen in every metric that matters. The only way we can defeat them is to do the same."

Katerea has had enough at this point, pushing her chair back rather violently and standing up to glare at me openly. "So what would you have us do, Creuserey? Give up and die like dogs? We've done everything we can, and our heritage as descendants of the Four Great Satans will see us through to victory!" Wow, this woman has a pair of lungs on her. She's not panting or giving any signs of overt physical exertion, but it's fairly obvious that she's winding herself up into a bad state. Time to nip that in the bud.

Speaking smoothly and calmly, I wave my hands down towards her, motioning her to take her seat. After a second of looking altogether disgusted at me, she complies. "Dear Kat, I would wish nothing less than to see any of us die." That's a lie, Shalba can fuck off, you're just sticking around so I can dump a dozen nearsighted brunette kids in you. "I think it is rather obvious what we need to do if we are to face off against the Pretenders, the Fallen, or those disgusting Angels. We need to train, and we need to train hard. We need to train until we drop dead, and then we need to remind ourselves of who we are, get up, and repeat the process until we know for a fact that we can crush our enemies without help from Dragon Gods, those disgusting Hero Faction humans, or the Mages at Nilrem. That is the only way we can ever expect to survive, my brethren."

Shalba is staring at me rather oddly. I don't think I was ever this loquacious as the original Creuserey, was I? Oh well, nothing to do about it now; at least nobody is throwing me into a prison cell or blasting me to bits. "Well then, what do you propose for this training, Creuserey?" He's using my full name now, and his tone is deadly serious. Crazy psychopath he may be, but I think he may be invested enough in his mission to risk a bit of good old-fashioned blood, sweat and tears if it means results against Ajuka. Am I going to train him to defeat a Super Devil who also happens to be the smartest being alive? Hell no, I'm not a miracle worker. Am I going to train him to become a very convenient meat-shield for me? Abso-fucking-lutely.

"I'm very glad you asked, Shalba. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Archstar?" Oh yes, I've got you hook, line and sinker you sick fuck. Time for a road trip!


	4. Worst Road-Trip Ever!

I want this on the record. Devil road trips, specifically officially sanctioned (by us) Old Satan Faction Devil road trips, absolutely fucking suck. You thought being in the car for seven hours with your snotty siblings and your parents who refuse to play anything other than Eric Clapton was bad? We don't even have a car. We're fucking flying there. Where is there, you might ask? Well, actually... I don't quite know. Now, before you chew my head off, I want to be very clear that I have a vague understanding of the direction we're supposed to be traveling in. It's sort of like a... built in GPS, or a little mental compass or something. When I'm concentrating on it, I have a pretty clear idea on the general direction we're supposed to be heading in. The downside to this, of course, is that we've been flying for something close to fifty minutes straight, and I am nursing the mother of all migraines right now. It feels like a thousand nails are being driven into my head all at once, and it turns out that Devils aren't exactly keen on Advil, so I'm suffering in silence.

The one nice thing about this hellish (ha!) trip is that I think I might have accidentally invented hyper-sonic flight. Turns out, flying at the speed of sound is a rather grueling experience; Azazel could only keep it up for a few minutes in that one episode and he's definitely way stronger than any of us. Especially Katerea, but that's a discussion for another time. The point is, using pure magic to fly at or above the speed of sound, AKA Mach One, is horrifically inefficient. I foolishly tried it out for the first mile or so, and spent the next thirty minutes vomiting my guts out while Katerea and Shalba laughed at my stupid ass. It takes up an enormous amount of magic, it's not pleasant on the body, and quite frankly I can't steer in the slightest.

This got me to thinking; there have been commercial planes capable of sustained supersonic speed for over 50 years. How do they do it? Well, jet engines generate thrust by increasing the temperature of the air they ingest, and as the aircraft speeds up, friction and compression heat this air before it reaches the engines. Using that same principle, I instead focused on super-heating the air underneath my wings as I flew and parting the air in front of me in the ideal shape of a Von Karman ogive. The result? Minimal air resistance, low wave drag, and a cone of air in front of me so I won't have to deal with literal bugs from Hell making a mess of my face. Ordinarily, this would be heralded as a great achievement; I've essentially created a technique that's fast enough to keep up with beings far stronger than myself, or fly anywhere with almost peak efficiency of magic. For right now, the only response I get from my two best friends is an idle scoff from Katerea and a "you look like the retarded cousin of a bullet" from Shalba. Why do I put up with these people again?

Though Shalba made fun of me for my genius, he and Katerea both followed suit shortly after, and we were off at a comfortable Mach 5 towards the world's strangest gut feeling. Our reflexes were already quite good, but all it took was a rather simple application of magic to the eyes to essentially slow down time to the point where we could steer with ease. This weird pull is getting rapidly stronger, to the point where I'm not even really consciously controlling my flying; I'm practically being jerked to the location by my navel at nearly 4,000 miles per hour. Hopefully this mace of power is worth the trip; I really don't want to deal with Shalba whinging all the way home.

A few minutes of flying later, we've arrived at a rather mountainous region. The memories of the real Creuserey tell me that we're somewhere on the outskirts of the Naberius territory, the home of Kuroka's long-deceased master. In a way, I suppose it makes sense. The guy that wanted to do extremely unethical research on how to manufacture Super Devils also happens to house a Pillar-Bound super-weapon? Yeah sure, why not? Of course he fucking does.

"Kat, Shalba, this is the place." I state with conviction, my insides practically crawling the closer I get to the rocky knolls. It's not painful or anything, but it's certainly not particularly pleasant either. I know that this is the place for me to be, more than anything. Shalba looks at me askance, as though to ask if this place is supposed to be of any importance. I can't blame him, given the terrain we've found ourselves in. There's nothing around for miles on end, and even though the pull is stronger than it's ever been, we're still standing in a desolate wasteland of rocks, soil, more rocks, the occasional hardy shrubbery, and yet even more rocks. Not exactly a Temple of Unstoppable Power, if you catch my drift. Regardless, I can't ignore this feeling much longer, and the two other OSF leaders are simply going to have to put up with it. "Follow after me, but don't get too close. If I stop, you stop immediately. We have no room for mistakes or slip-ups here, friends." That's probably ominous enough that they don't fuck things up for me, right? Right? I really hope so.

Making my way over a little ways west of where we landed, I can see a stone outcropping that doesn't quite look like the rest of the landscape. For one, it's jagged in a way that the others aren't, as if erosion hasn't had any effect on this particular pile of rocks and dirt. The rest of the steppe we're currently walking around in all smooth, worn down by thousands of years of harsh winds and migratory animal movements. This outcropping, though? It's sharp and sturdy, as if someone had chiseled it into the particular shape it's in and left it here. Suddenly, a hissing noise cuts through the silence. I turn rapidly to the other two, who are standing back to back as they scan the surroundings. What the hell have we just walked in to?

"Stay on your toes, you two. We don't know what's around here." Yeah, thanks for the useless advice, Shalba, as if we didn't just hear the same thing as you.

The ground begins to shake, a deep rumble through the broken dirt and debris as if the land itself were alive. About two hundred meters from us, I can see a dust cloud starting to kick up, and the air is tense with anticipation. Whatever is making that noise, it's got to be quite large. I begin to slow down my breathing, trying to tap into the same source in my gut that lead us here in the first place. The feeling is just as strong as it was before, and I can hardly hear the noises of the ground or the whirlwind of sand over the hammering of my heart in my chest. I don't think I've ever felt this alive before. Whatever is out there, I'm the only one that deserves to be here!

"Alright, fuck it." I blast a tendril of sickly purple energy towards the dust, parting it in two as the Entropy eats through the sand particulates entirely. What's left as the whirlwind clears is a strange sort of beast. It has the body of an enormous man standing at least ten meters tall, with the cloven hooves and four legs of some horrifying equine creature. Across its horse-like back is a mass of writhing snakes, thousands in number and all leaking a dark, almost blackened liquid down its matted fur. Its eyes are gone, two empty sockets bleeding freely, and its throat is mangled, crushed clearly beyond repair. Looking closely, I can even see the telltale marks of a strangulation, as if its killer was so strong that they left hand imprints upon its crushed neck. Most frighteningly, there is very clearly a small dragon curled around his broad shoulders, hissing at us with obvious displeasure. The twisted centaur roars, a mighty bellow that kicks up the dust around us, and he charges forward, galloping towards us at a ponderous pace that shakes the earth with each massive step. The dragon coiled around the beast isn't nearly as massive as any of the dragons of note in this universe, more similar in size to an anaconda with stubby legs and short, shriveled wings... but it's still a fucking dragon. More concerning is the fact that said dragon just leapt off the centaur's back, and is now corkscrewing towards us at top speed like some sort of freakish drill with wings and claws.

"Creu, what the fuck have you gotten us into?!" Katerea screeches, leaping back and unfurling her wings as she takes to the skies. She lets off bolt after bolt of green energy at the creature, peppering its face with magical energy. Shalba throws himself to the side just in time, unleashing a swarm of bees that drive into the creature's legs with the force of bullets. As for me, I'm transfixed, simply staring at these twin monstrosities as they near me. The dragon smashes into my chest with the force of a cannon, and I can clearly feel ribs shatter and break as I'm sent stumbling into the dirt. The beast nears me as soon as I impact the ground, scooping me up in its enormous arms and sending my flying yet again. Concussion? Definitely. Words I've certainly never thought come pouring from my mouth like ichor, and for a moment, I am simply not there.

"Through all the sombre circles of this Hell, Spirit I saw not against God so proud, Not he who fell at Thebes down from the walls! He fled away, and spake no further word; And I beheld a Centaur full of rage come crying out: "Where is, where is the scoffer?" I do not think Maremma has so many serpents as he had all along his back, as far as where our countenance begins. Upon the shoulders, just behind the nape, with wings wide open was a dragon lying, and he sets fire to all that he encounters. My Master said: "That one is Cacus, who beneath the rock upon Mount Aventine created oftentimes a lake of blood. He goes not on the same road with his brothers, by reason of the fraudulent theft he made of the great herd, which he had near to him; whereat his tortuous actions ceased beneath the mace of Hercules, who per adventure gave him a hundred, and he felt not ten."

This is Cacus, the son of Vulcan? What is a long-dead demigod doing here? In the Inferno, Cacus was guarding the eighth circle of Hell, the Maleb- oh shit, the Archstar is totally one of those Malebranche pseudo-Sacred Gears our ancestors made, isn't it? Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Shalba roars at the rampaging beast, drawing me from my distracted state and inadvertently saving my life. I jump back in the nick of time, my wings unfurling and taking me just out of reach of the charging centaur and his dive-bombing dragon companion. "Take out the dragon first!" I yell, charging up twin balls of Entropy magic in each hand and letting them loose with a faintly audible hiss. As they impact the dragon, I can see, and more importantly I can clearly smell, the flesh burning and bubbling as it drips off the creature's form. The dragon shrieks in pain, thrashing wildly as the spheres of Entropy work their way through its front legs. Using the momentary distraction to its full potential, Shalba lets loose another swarm of insects, driving the plague of flies into the dragon's wings like tiny bullets. Most don't pierce the creature's membranous appendages, but they impact its wings with dull thuds like thunderclaps, and the few that do manage to tear through elicit further shrieks of rage and pain. Even at this size, a dragon is a dangerous beast, and the sooner this one is put down, the better for all of us.

"Well, time to try something new," I mutter to myself. I put both hands in front of myself, holding them out with fingers splayed, wrist to wrist like a certain monkey-themed children's show protagonist's signature attack. This probably won't be anywhere as cool as a Kamehameha, but I'm much more concerned with staying alive at the moment. Step one is to visualize the closed system that entropy exists in as the boundaries of the dragon's physical body. Step two is to register the exact measure of entropy in the closed system, as well as the total energy within. Step three? Increase the entropy, until the dragon has no available energy left within the confines of its form.

The result is frighteningly quick. Within the span of seconds, the dragon's form begins to wither and shrink, rapidly losing musculature as its skin grows taut and paper thin against its crumbling bones. It's gone from a beast large enough to swallow a small horse to a pile of bones and skin, barely moving, not even enough energy left within its body to let out noise beyond a dying wheeze. It is at this point in time that Katerea comes through to finish the creature, her arms expanding and stretching until she's wrapped the entire creature in her freakishly long grasp. With a grunt of exertion, she simply squeezes, and I can clearly hear the bones grinding to dust and the skin tearing. Did she just turn a dragon into Jamba Juice? Fucking hell, this is not the time for an erection!

With one obstacle out of the way, time to turn my attention to the much greater obstacle. Namely, the very angry, very blind demigod running around like it's in the world's biggest matador match. Given that this is a demigod, and a creature deemed dangerous enough to guard weapons of nearly unspeakable power, I'm going to assume my handy rapid aging decay trick won't work on the whole creature. How about just a limb?

Focusing on just Cacus's front left kneecap, I focus on the entropy in his cartilage and muscle structure, and draw as much available energy out of the closed system as I can handle. In the back of my head, I can already tell that this being is far beyond my strength, and it still has some available energy in its leg, though I've taken at least half. Regardless, I can hear a sickening squelch as Cacus's leg goes straight and then shortens as his femur drives clean through the cartilage and muscle surrounding his kneecap, sending him sprawling to the ground with a howl. That leg is definitely useless, mangled beyond repair as the bone shards dig their way throughout his already wrecked knee. Unfortunately, it's reached Katerea and I by this point, and twin punches send us flying in opposite directions. I can very clearly hear a snap, and I really hope that it's not my leg. That would be horrifyingly ironic, wouldn't it?

Shalba activates a magical circle, unleashing a dozen massive beetles at Cacus's back. The snakes hiss and snap as they bite away at my brother-in-arm's creations, but they're sufficiently distracted to the point where Katerea can unfurl her limbs from the now very dead dragon and wrap herself around Cacus's hind quarters, restraining him for the moment. I have only a few moments before Cacus shakes her off and works his way back up to his feet, so I have to make the best of it. Twin beams of Entropy magic wrap around his one free limb, seeping into Cacus's front right leg with a hiss of burning flesh and the acrid smell to match. I really need to figure out a way to kill things without causing my nose hairs to curl in disgust.

Regardless, all four of his horse limbs are momentarily taken care of, and we have a shot to end this. "Shalba, go for the head!" The Beelzebub thankfully complies rather quickly, controlling the massive beetles currently haranguing Cacus's weird back-snakes with one hand while he opens another magical circle with the other. From said circle fly forth a truly massive swarm of mosquitoes, impacting against Cacus's head and mangled neck like the world's smallest kamikaze pilots. Each insect obviously doesn't do much damage on its own, splashing almost harmlessly against the monster's bloody head with tiny splats. However, they are completely crowding out his senses, buzzing loudly enough that he can't hear and reeking of death to the point where his nose is useless as well. A distracted opponent often becomes a dead opponent, and I'm hoping to prove that mantra right. As if reading my thoughts, Cacus begins to buck his hind legs, very quickly shaking off Katerea as she's forced to retract her arms lest they be crushed altogether. In a moment, the beast is back up on two legs, trying to shake off the multitude of bugs harassing him. Now's my shot!

I ready two spheres of Entropy, loading as much magic in them as they can possibly handle. Sending each sphere above Cacus's head, I follow up with a four-pointed magical barrier, forming a square around him. "Set up as many shields as you can!" I roar out, fatigue and exhaustion flooding my body already. This needs to end, preferably soon. The two follow my instructions, rapidly setting up layer after layer over my shield. What once was a green square an inch in thickness grows into sturdy magical walls nearly a foot wide. Now, to see if this will work out.

So far, my attacks have all been focused on eroding my opponents' bodies, using their entropy against them as I leach all of the available energy out of their systems. Now, I'm going the opposite route. The two spheres have stayed above Cacus's head, lazily spinning around him in wide circles. Their purpose isn't to attack Cacus by taking his energy away, but rather to steal all the available energy within the airtight space that we've formed. The Entropy Magic spheres begin to pulse and grow, heating up as the space within the barrier becomes a literal vacuum of nothingness. Essentially, Cacus is being flash frozen as all heat energy leaves the space around him. The problem is that they leach the energy from the shields as well, hence the outrageous number of redundant barriers around my original. Even with what must be a dozen or more shields at every point, I can see the spheres begin to grow exponentially larger, seeping away at the shields that Katerea, Shalba, and I have set up.

My control is about to slip. Rather than let it blow up in my face, I scream out as I pop the spheres. The result is like a localized supernova going off in front of my face. I fear my eyes won't recover from the light, as an explosion that easily shatters the remaining shields wreaks havoc on Cacus, burning him to a crisp while at the same time irradiating his body with so much gamma radiation that I wouldn't be surprised if his corpse is green and angry by the end of this.

Thankfully, Cacus stays very flesh-colored, and more importantly, very dead.. What's left is a perfectly leveled square three inches deeper than the rest of the landscape, and a softly shining mace pulsing underneath the mass of charred snakes. It's slightly shorter than the length of my arm, with five wickedly sharp flanges adorning the head. The whole construction seems to be of metal, though I can see black leather wrapped around the handle. It's what we're here for, so I step forward, shambling as I take in massive breaths on my short walk there. "This, Shalba, Katerea, is the Archstar." I say, simply reaching out and grasping for the handle. Huge mistake.

The second I touch the handle, a thunderclap that could shake the Heavens goes off, rattling my already-abused head and sending me to my knees. I want to let go, but I simply can't. Pain like nothing I've ever felt before wracks my body, and I'm later told by my two best friends that I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. This power, it's so much beyond me, beyond what any Devil should be able to wield! Getting pulped into nothingness by Truck-kun was nothing compared to this; every nerve-ending in my body is flaring with unspeakable pain, and I realize with startling certainty that I will go insane should this continue.

[Cease, Evil Claw. Your true wielder has arrived. Be at ease, for your fate will be battle and conquests told for eons.]

Robby booms out, though thankfully Shalba and Katerea seem to think that voice was coming from me. All of a sudden, the pain stops, and I sag down to the ground, still holding on to that accursed weapon. The fucking asshole could have told me the Archstar was a Malebranche! It takes a few minutes for me to work my way back up to my knees and then my feet, my two comrades still frozen in outright terror at the events of the last minute. All around me are scorch-marks, tearing deep furrows into the broken dirt and rocks. I probably look like I was just struck by lightning, huh?

Remember when I first got into this body, and everything felt so much better? I could walk with supernatural grace, my strength was monstrous, and I could outrun a sports car; I was over the moon with delight. Now, that feels like a sick day in bed. This power, coursing through my veins, it's the most heady feeling I've ever felt! I could take on the world! I let loose a roar, unfurling my wings as my battered and bruised body unleashes a presence at least on par with my Ancestor. The pressure is immense, and my two companions are sent crashing to the ground under my strength. Oh, fuck, that was a bad idea, we're all tired.

I quickly rein in my power, marveling at how easy it is. Not only is my strength increased, tipping me easily over Ultimate-Class to a mid-tier Satan-Class, my control is refined, aided by hundreds of years of experience courtesy of my new best friend. Speaking of which, which one is he? "Shalba, Katerea, I'd like you to say hello to our new weapon. He's called the Archstar, but you can call him..."

{Rubicante, the Red Faced Terror!}

"Rubicante, the Red Faced Terror, the eleventh Malebranche."

With that statement, my power comes loose again, as if spurred on by the true name of the Archstar. This time, I simply bask in it, ignoring the two OSF descendants as I luxuriate in the feeling of utter power. Alright, enough jerking myself off. I pull back the cocoon of magical aura, letting my wings curl back into my body as I take a seat, cross-legged. Shalba is looking at me with fear, but I can tell that he knows that we're on the same side. I should really get him his own Evil Claw pretty soon, would hate to be back-stabbed over a fancy stick.

{I heard that, mortal.}

Oh great, now I've got a second entity leagues above my own strength rattling around in my head. You would think that the concussion I had just received would quiet them down a tad. As for Katerea? She's sprawled on her side, one leg underneath her and her hair hanging loose, the tight ponytails undone by our monumental struggle against a demigod. Her breasts are straining mightily against the tight fabric of her top, and her heavy breathing certainly isn't helping matters in that regard. The sole female Old Satan descendant is looking at me wide-eyed like a doe, and I can practically feel the lust radiating off of her. I take back what I said before; now is the perfect time for an erection!


	5. Choo-Choo, All Aboard the Coochie Train!

It took us precisely six seconds to open a series of magical circles, carrying our weary and battered bodies, plus my new bludgeoning tool of mass fuck-off-power, back to the Old Satan Faction Headquarters. We landed in an awkward crouch-huddle, leaning against each other for support in the wide stone hallway of our enormous compound. Everything hurts, muscles I didn't even know existed are currently screaming out in agony, and I would commit mass genocide for the chance to take a warm bath right about now. Scratch that, Creuserey would probably commit mass genocide for much less important reasons. The point is, we're all very, very tired. Approximately three seconds after that, an altogether far too cheery Katerea proceeded to stretch out her arms, pick up Shalba by the back of his collar like a lioness carrying her cub, and toss him out into a spare room, an elongated foot nudging the door closed. Now it's just the two of us, and she's looking more and more like a lioness by the moment. I should probably take control of the situation before she puts me in a mating press.

Thankfully, my body-smashing, soul-shattering rod of destruction (no, not that one you degenerates) is quite handy in this regards. All it takes is a mere tightening of my hand around Rubicante's handle and my wings are unfurled around the two of us, a Demonic presence powerful enough to send Katerea straight back down to her knees. Ah, much better. "You weren't planning to take advantage of little old me after we just finished up fighting an Ultimate-class demigod, were you Kat?" I drawl out, not making the smallest attempt to hide the dark humor in my eyes. She simply stares up towards my frame, taking in the sight of me towering over her. I have to say, it feels damn good to be this good looking, even with the stupid elf ears and the paper-white skin.

Katerea gulps audibly, her lower lip trembling and her pupils rapidly dilating as she drinks in the power I'm freely irradiating in her general direction. It takes a few seconds, but she eventually shakes her head and looks back down immediately. How cute, she's absolutely fucking terrified, as if I'd hurt her. Well, I most certainly will, but she'll learn to love it in time I'm sure. "No, you weren't? So you tossed our dear friend Shalba into a spare bedroom like a ragdoll because... you wanted to talk? Thirsty for a cup of tea with yours truly, perhaps?" This is too much fun; she's shaking like a leaf in the wind, doe-eyed with thighs reflexively twitching open and shut. You dirty, dirty girl. We'll take care of that once you learn some ground rules.

Once again it takes a few moments for her to audibly respond with a soft "no," and I can't blame her. With the power I'm currently giving off, I wouldn't be surprised if every grunt in this giant building were passed out from sheer shock. I know for certain that I'll be feeling this in the morning; I'm certainly not used to this level of strength, and after the fight we've all been through, I'm going to need at least a day or two of solid bed-rest before we embark on any further adventures. For now, I simply need to outlast Kat, show her the hierarchy, and fuck off back to my room to catch up with Morpheus.

"I'd say something like cat's got your tongue, but that would be terribly gauche even by my standards, don't you think Kat?" She nods dumbly at this, not even bothering to hide the fact that she's panting heavily. Heavy breaths are really doing wonders for this woman's chest, I swear. Deciding to just roll with it and see how long I can stretch this out for, I turn on my heel sharply, taking long strides towards an unused bedroom. Though it's certainly not as luxurious as my own, it's still quite large, with a delightfully comfortable looking bed, a large mirror on the desk, and plenty of pillows strewn around by the chairs and the head of the bed. This will certainly work. A stray glance over my shoulder shows Katerea slowly getting back up to her feet, shuffling awkwardly in such a manner as to not touch her thighs to each other. Well, that just won't do.

Another application of Rubicante's strength sends her crashing bodily to the floor, too sudden for her to tuck her knees underneath and minimize the blow. I'm sure that stung, but those watermelons on her chest she calls tits must be good for something, judging by the fact that she hasn't hit her face on the stone tiles. "Kat, Kat, Kat... I think it's fair to say that Rubicante has made me like a deity, and you like a mouse in comparison. And mice don't walk on two legs, do they?" I ask, sneering at her gobsmacked expression. For a moment, I fear it would turn to anger and I had just blown my shot, but she quickly looks back down as she somehow manages to pant even harder.

"No... no, they don't." She stutters out, her voice hoarse and throaty. "And what do mice do, Katerea?" I bite out, forcing her to vocalize exactly what I expect her to do. It takes her a few seconds, to be fair. She simply lies down at my feet, breathing harshly and trying to control the tremors wracking her body. It's perhaps the most erotic sight I've ever witnessed. "Mice... mice crawl." She whispers, almost too softly for my enhanced Devil hearing to pick up. There's a good girl, though you forgot the most important part.

"Sir."

"Huh?" Her head whips up as she looks at me quizzically, momentarily taken out of her stupor of lust. "Mice crawl, sir. I think we're past first-name basis at this point, Kat." And with a single sentence, she's as needy and horny as she's ever been, a sharp intake of breath letting me know that she's clearly reacted well to my gentle correction. Time to get this show on the road, before I pass out. "Come along, little mouse. The night is still young, and you've got so much learn."

Strolling leisurely into the bedroom proper, I shut the door behind us as Kat crawls on all fours onto the lush Persian Rug in the center of the room. As those incredible curves and mile-long legs pass me by, I can't help but whistle softly, taking in the kind of visual any hot-blooded man would kill to see. Slowly shrugging out of the combat vest I've been wearing all day, I take a seat at the foot of the bed, patting the sheets immediately to my left with one hand. The sole female OSF descendant is quick to crawl over, though I can still very easily see the way her whole body shakes in excitement, not to mention the smell of arousal permeating through the air. I imagine this whole room will have to be sprayed with a gallon of Febreeze by tomorrow morning, but that's fine; we've got enough spare bedrooms for a night of fun.

As Kat reaches my knees and pulls herself up to the bedding, I strike, grasping her tightly by the throat and twisting her body around as we switch places, my much larger frame pinning her by her neck to the edge of the bed. She gasps dramatically, her legs instinctively opening wider, drawing my body even closer to hers. By this point my hair has come undone from the top-knot it's usually kept in, cascading around our faces like a curtain of the purest black. She really is such a lovely thing; I can't wait to see what sort of expressions I can push her to make.

Idly, I trace a finger down the valley between her breasts, a simple application of magic to my nail allowing the digit to part her clothing altogether. As her top is cut loose, those beautiful breasts finally come loose, quite literally springing forth from her ruined shirt with the kind of unnatural bounce and firmness that only a Devil could have. They're certainly on the larger side, I would estimate E-Cups, topped with lovely pert brown nipples, already pebbled and hard after the rush of emotion I've put her through. I reach down and gently run my fingertip, now sans the cutting magic, in lazy circles around one nipple, eliciting a throaty mewl that rapidly turns to a gurgle once my hand tightens around her throat once more. Her back arches underneath me, our pelvic bones practically smashing into each other as she moans and twitches. With a disconcerting softness, I let go of her neck, my now-free hand finding its way to her other breast. A gentle but firm tug on each nipple towards the other gets an even more delightful noise from her, a short, harsh intake of breath as she tries to control her flailing.

Time to up the ante. Using my currently rather loving and gentle grasp on her nipples, I tug suddenly, pulling back and getting off of her in one smooth motion. The result is Katerea scrambling from a prone position to almost standing, lead around by my grip on her pert brown nubs. She has a great deal more trouble controlling her voice at this, giving a rather high-pitched squeal as her thighs clench shut with a vice grip over empty air, her back arched to the point where I'd be concerned with her spine were she not a Supernatural being of lust and sin. I let go of her breasts, pushing gently down on her shoulders to send her down to her knees on the rug once more, her back pressed firm against the foot of the bed.

"I think you know what to do from here, Kat. Get to it." I whisper to her, helpfully unbuckling my belt and pulling it loose of my trousers with a flourish and a sharp crack of leather. She reaches out tentatively with one shaking hand, fiddling with the top button for a moment as she looks at me with those wide, gorgeous eyes behind her cute little glasses. I could just eat her up! Having finally figured out the complicated mechanics of unbuttoning pants, Kat trails her other hand down to my zipper, opening it with a single smooth motion. Her hands move from my front to my sides, fingers curling into my waistband and slowly drawing my pants and my boxers down to my knees.

As my boxers came down, my cock pops free from the waistband, smacking into Katerea's face with a dull thud. She seems transfixed by it, my thick, veiny shaft and bulbous head pressing against her forehead and fogging up her glasses instantly. I have to give it to this woman, she's certainly quick to adapt, evidenced by the incredibly short time between my cock making impact with her face and her grasping out and gently running her tongue across the underside, eliciting a genuine groan of approval from yours truly. As she works her way from the beginning of my shift to my slit, Kat pulls the remains of her top free, exposing smooth brown skin down to her belly-button. For a moment, she stares my tool dead-on, before opening her mouth wide and impaling her face on it in one smooth motion.

It's wet and hot beyond belief, with a suction that feels, dare I say, heavenly. My little mouse's hands are kept busy, one going straight to my heavy sack and gently rolling my balls with her fingers and the other in front of her mouth, twisting and jerking as she transitions into a flawless fellatio. She keeps just the right amount of suction in her mouth the whole time, taking deep breaths continuously through her nose as to not choke, her hand working the parts of my shaft that she can't quite reach. Good work like this deserves a reward.

Sighing contentedly as she deep-throats me with fervor, I let my hands wander, tracing gently down the outline of her jaw, down the lovely curves of her thin, regal neck, to the swell of her massive bosom. Rapidly, I begin to flick at each nipple, and the response is instant, a low grown in the back of her throat that sends the most wonderful vibrations down my shaft. She's content to be like this for a few minutes, taking in at least half of my length and occasionally up to two-thirds. I, too, am content, toying gently but insistently at her nipples, massaging her shoulders, tracing the edge of her ear and eventually grasping at each of her thin ponytails. At this, she looks up to me, eyes wide. She certainly knows what's about to happen, doesn't she? "You've done a wonderful job so far, Kat. Just sit back and let me handle the rest." I say in a gentle tone, as if I was giving her friendly advice and not about to skull-fuck her into oblivion.

And skull-fuck her I do. I wrapped each ponytail around my fist, using them as reins to drive her face further down and down my shaft until I can finally feel her nose impacting softly against my thick but trimmed section of pubic hair. Having finally gotten myself lodged in all the way, I let loose a deep groan and unload straight down her gullet. At first, she swallows, but within moments it's far too much for her to handle, and she pulls back from my messy cock, spittle and cum flying out her nostrils and out the side of her mouth as she takes in deep, shuddering breaths. She looks utterly exhausted, her face still returning to its normal color after the purple experience I had just put it through, and I can already feel my erection rising back to full mast in record time.

"Bed, now." I growl out, not even meaning to let loose Rubicante's presence but doing it subconsciously. For a moment, Katerea genuinely passes out from the exposure, but she's quick to come back to life, poised with her back on the bed, legs wide and beckoning me in further. Who am I to deny this little minx what she so desperately craves? I step forward, shaking my cock a few times to get some of the spit off, before taking up position between her legs, my cock-head resting above her slit. I rock my hips forward a few times, letting my cock ride forward on the smooth skin of her waist and showing her exactly how deep inside of her I'm about to be.

"Is this what you want, Kat?" I whisper to her, looking this beautiful Devil dead in the eyes as I do so. She stares back, seemingly lost in my eyes as she jerks her head in the affirmative. With that rather enthusiastic consent, I pull back and slam my hips home, driving inside of her with one fluid motion. She screams at that, shrieking in pleasure as I stuff her whole body full of rock-hard cock. Now that the ground rules have been established and Katerea has learned her place, it's time for good, old-fashioned dicking into submission.

The pace I set is not slow, nor is it gentle. From the start I'm pounding into her with reckless abandon, an animalistic fury pounding in my chest like a war-drum. This! Is! Mine! Katerea is barely able to speak at this point, simply letting off guttural moans and howls as I pump back and forth with sharp, powerful strokes. I can just faintly see a distention on her stomach, and realize only moments later that it's the shape of my cock, rearranging her insides and ruining her for any other lover. This spurs me to fuck her even harder, grabbing her ankles tightly and slowly but surely pushing them back behind her shoulders, until she's folded up like a pretzel and my body is looming over her entirely, my heavy balls slapping against her ass with each thrust. One hand finds its way to her throat, and I squeeze down mercilessly as the other assaults her clit, flicking and rubbing circles into her most sensitive organ.

Katerea screams again, her body convulsing in what must have been the dozenth orgasm. Finally, she's had too much. Slowly but surely, she begins to lose consciousness altogether, simply laying there limply as I pound away at her. It's the work of but a moment to release her throat and give her much-needed air, before slapping her harshly across the face to wake her back up. She comes back to the land of the living with another howl of pleasure, her juices splashing up against my chest and face. At the rather impromptu squirting, she blushes the deepest crimson I've ever seen, and it's enough to push me over the edge. Reaching around to grasp her sizable ass with both hands and squeezing, I let loose a prodigious load deep in her womb, filling her up like never before.

As opposed to the previous orgasms, this one seems to calm her down in a manner of speaking. She tightens and clamps around my cock, milking out every last drop, and a lone shudder is all I hear from her before she's knocked out yet again. As I pull free with a pop and a rather large puddle of leaking cum, I can very clearly see an insignia burning its way into her navel, right above her womb. It's shaped like a stylized snake coiled around a mace, resembling a faintly glowing tattoo. Alright, time for some answers.

"Robby, since when does impregnating a woman cause them to spontaneously grow tattoos?!"

[It's only been two days, and you've already unlocked the Lord of Lust? How fascinating.]

Oh. Oh, fuck.


	6. No Brakes On This Coochie Train!

"So this is the powers you gave me, then? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" I am definitely not freaking out. No, it's totally normal to raw-dog a girl and she manifests a god(ow)damn tattoo on her navel, right? That totally happens to normal people. Okay, not panicking, definitely not panicking. Deep breaths, Creu, you can work through this.

[And what exactly is a brand, Mortal?]

What's a brand? What an odd question. "A brand would be a marking of ownership, I suppose."

[Correct.]

Oh. Oh. "Okay, so I own Katerea now, is that it? What does that even mean?" It's more than a little frustrating, having a mental conversation with a being far beyond my understanding, who also happens to be a reclusive dick that doesn't want to ever explain things properly. Alas, the alternative is trial-and-error, and I don't think Katerea's pelvis would be up for that sort of challenge, so Robby's shit-tier explanations will have to do.

[Not quite; you've initiated the bonding as shown by the appearance of the brand in the first place. The sealing itself will require repetition, as will its regular renewal.]

"So, what, we have to fuck a whole lot? That's not so bad, I suppose. We already do that on a somewhat-regular basis, in case you haven't noticed, Robby." I'm doing my damn best to not sound snide to the entity currently controlling my entire life, but God (ow) is it hard.

[Control of the bond and bearing it aren't mutually exclusive, Mortal. In human terms, it's a two-way street. The moment that the Devil currently comatose in your bed takes control during one of your sessions, or any other being you create the bond with for that matter, there is a nonzero chance that they will take the reins from you entirely. For obvious reasons, that would be inadvisable for your mission. You will need to maintain full control over yourself and the scenarios you find yourself in when the bond is concerned.]

"So, I need to... take charge?" I ask, scrunching my face in a quizzical manner. Not that I really mind being the dominant figure in a relationship or anything, but generally the consequences of not doing that are an interesting experience as a sub that I will never speak of in public, not losing my powers and full-on slavery. This is going to be fucking exhausting.

[That would be correct. Speaking of which, doing so now would be a good idea, Mortal.]

What the fuck does that mean? Regardless, Robby terminates the mental connection, leaving me with the sweet bliss of not hearing a voice like a bass drum in my head. From the side of the bed, I can hear Katerea softly snoring, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she twists and turns in the bed. There's a veritable flood of white slowly leaking from between her legs and creating a puddle on the lush carpeting, and I already regret the poor fuck who's going to have to clean that out in the morning. Satan knows it won't be me; I'm sure Kat has a maid for that sort of thing. I can clearly see the pale sheen of sweat coating her dusky skin all over, and even fifteen minutes after the fact, she's still blushing deeply. Apparently, one round wasn't enough to satisfy this little minx, and of course, it's my very important duty to rectify that.

"Wake up, Kat." I start out with the soft method, gently shaking her shoulder as I whisper into her ear. The only response I get is slightly deeper snoring and an instinctive grab from her, leading to my arm now being sandwiched with deceptive strength between her breasts. While I'm not exactly opposed to the idea of her hanging on me like some sort of adorable limpet, Robby's words are reverberating in my head and I realized rather quickly that this could be a good opportunity to tip the scales in my favor. Time for the slightly less soft method it is. I don't say anything, simply prying my arm loose from her vice-like grip and taking position somewhat behind her. She's laid out across the bed on her back, curled up slightly as sleeping people often are, with her head near the edge of the mattress. I can definitely work with this.

I loop my arms underneath Katerea's armpits, pulling her carefully to the side until her head is dangling off the edge of the bed, her ponytails having long come undone in the wake of our fucking. A curtain of silky brunette hair falls to the floor, framing her lovely heart-shaped face. What a sight, woman, what a sight indeed. Time to ruin it.

Through the last twenty minutes or so since Katerea left the land of the awake and embarked on her journey to meet Morpheus, my cock has stayed rock-solid and erect the whole time. If anything, it's looking even harder than before, if such a thing was possible. Angry veins pulsing, shaft swinging slightly as I move, the whole nine yards. Now, obviously this is not normal by any stretch of the imagination, but this whole bedroom situation went from celebratory sex to me owning a slave in about thirty minutes, so I'm just going to roll with the punches and say it's a gift from Robby. Thanks for the super-dick, pal.

It only takes a few seconds of pinching Katerea's cute little button nose shut for her mouth to open, taking in great heaving breaths as she wakes up immediately, her eyes wide and frantically searching around. Her vision is rapidly overtaken by one thing, namely my cock plunging without any fanfare or warning straight down her throat. For a moment, she's clearly hacking and gagging, not having expected a wake-up call in the form of a minor league baseball bat shoved down her gullet, but that's really not my problem.

"Rather rude to go to sleep like that, Kat. We're not done by a long shot." I keep my thrusts fast and thorough, leaving her throat almost entirely to the point where my cock-head is pressing against the tip of her tongue before plunging back in until I can feel the clink-clink of her glasses brushing up against my unbearably heavy sack. It's not particularly pleasurable to be honest; I'm essentially just ravaging her throat without giving her time to apply any techniques or even tighten down. The important thing is that it's unbelievably humiliating for her, having her face be used like a meat-puppet, and that's the point of this all. If I break her in early, hopefully I won't have to worry about what Robby was talking about.

"Fucking hell, Kat, do I have to do everything?" I snark out, gripping tightly at her throat with one hand while swatting none-too-gently at her massive heaving breasts. The result is much appreciated, as I can feel her squeeze down rhythmically on her throat muscles, matching the pulses of my cock perfectly. Finally, some decent fucking head. She's still gurgling and gagging, making the sort of wet noises that tell me she's not in any real danger but clearly struggling with the thick man-meat invading her orifice. Katerea begins to rock her head as best as she can, adding another layer of movement to the impromptu throat-fucking that we've built up, and I show my appreciation for her initiative by leaning over her body, changing the angle slightly. This serves two purposes, allowing me to take shallower but harder thrusts into her mouth as opposed to down her throat, but also putting me in reach of her folds. The hand not currently squeezing her throat is now in play, parting her pussy lips and slowly kneading, rubbing up against the exposed nub at the top of her hood. The clitoral stimulation seems to do its job splendidly, driving the already rather intense woman into an absolute frenzy.

Katerea's hands come up from their limp position, mauling her own breasts with complete abandon. She's bucking her hips up against my hand, to the point where all of her body weight is rested on her shoulders and neck. With a cry, I pull free from the vice-like grip of her throat and give her clit one harsh, magic-imbued flick. The tattoo pulses at this, and Katerea cries out, suddenly boneless as she collapses back into the bed with a strangled scream of shock and pleasure. As for me, I take my cock with my now free hand, stroking it frantically as I unload a long stream of cum across her face. It coats her glasses, her forehead, a few strands getting caught in her hair, and for the life of me I've never seen something so simultaneously beautiful and wretched.

The brunette devil seems to relax once it's clear that I'm done blasting ropes of white at her, sighing deeply as she slowly rubs some of the gooey material into her breasts. One finger dips down, drawing a thin line of white down her belly, across her now-glowing brand and hooking itself as deep inside herself as she can reach. Aaaaand I'm hard again, wonderful. Time to figure out if I've done this properly or not, I suppose.

"And what do you say, Katerea?" I bark out, looking at her with as much faux-disdain as I can manage while still holding onto the strongest boner I've ever had in either of my lives.

She looks at me through slightly hooded eyes, her mouth parting slightly as her tongue flicks out, catching a glob of cum and drawing it back into her mouth. She swallows as obviously as possible, opening her mouth again to show me that she had drank it down. "Thank you...sir." As she speaks, the brand glows brightly once again, before fading altogether, leaving her skin smooth and unblemished. As for Katerea herself, she goes limp for the nth time tonight, falling rather ungracefully back into her bed. I can feel a rush of strength flowing through me, and instinctively, I reach for my coat, drawing Rubicante in its cane form and grasping it tightly.

Without knowing fully what I was doing, I reach out and tap where the brand used to be with the tip of Rubicante. It comes to life, as does Katerea, who moans wantonly and gyrates her hips a little as she wakes up yet again. I pull her close to myself, the both of us now seated on the edge of the bed with her in my lap. Brushing a stray strand of hair to the side, I lean across her, watching intently as her eyes widen the closer I get. I move past her face, the tip of my chin now resting gently in the crook of her shoulder. "No more games, Kat. No more teasing. I'm going to put a child in you now." I whisper, reveling in the sharp intake of breath from my lover.

It only takes a moment for her to adjust slightly, pulling back so my cock can spring free. She doesn't take it immediately, instead opting to rub herself along the length and letting my cock-head tease her folds for a few minutes. One rather impatient growl from me rectifies this situation, Katerea sinking back onto my pole with a hiss and slight tremors. I don't give her any time to adjust to it, going from sitting still to jack-hammering myself inside of her in a split second. The gorgeous bespectacled Devil clearly can't handle this very well, crying out in a rather ugly fashion as she does her best to match the frenetic pace of my hips with her own. To be perfectly fair to her, she really does try, but I feel like an animal right now, and there was really never any doubt in my mind that she simply couldn't keep up.

Katerea's face takes on an almost exaggeratedly lewd look, the textbook ahegao as she circles her arms around my broad shoulders and pulls me in as close to her body as she can. She's simply crying out now, not even making recognizable noises, simply ooh-ing and ah-ing as I pound her walls. I gaze down, staring deeply into her eyes as she bounces herself on and off my dick with reckless abandon. The tattoo still pulses, her brand practically vibrating given the rate we've been fucking. I dip one hand down to it, tracing the snake idly. The result is incredible; Katerea clamps down so tightly on my cock that it instantly triggers the largest orgasm I've ever experienced, pumping a frankly quite obscene amount of cum straight into her womb. I can feel a headache incoming, and I'm not taking about the consequences of this.

[Lord of Lust: Unlocked. Preparing Stat Screen...]

What the fuck?

[Name: Katerea Leviathan]  
[Age: 212 standard years]  
[Status: Unconscious]  
[Relationship: Slave Bond currently at 75%]  
[Fertility: Toggled ON]  
[Kinks: Dom/Sub, Oral Play, Choking, Impregnation, ?, ?, ?]  
[???]  
[???]  
[???]  
[???]  
[???]  
[???]

And that was how Shalba found me; stark naked, still stiff as a steel girder, staring at a magic blue screen in the middle of an absolutely trashed bedroom and emitting enough Demonic energy to force High-Class beings to their knees in pain.

"Creu... I'm not even going to ask what you did this time." Ah, how to explain this?


	7. Interlude - A Few Brakes On The Coochie Train?

It took three long minutes of silent staring between myself and Shalba before we collectively decided to wipe this entire moment from our collective memories. Three torturous minutes of tense silence, where the only noises that could be heard was the soft snoring of a still-unconscious Kat. Three minutes of my still painfully hard rod (no, not the one with a demon inside of it) pointing rather awkwardly at Shalba, who in turn had probably the most flabbergasted expression a living organism could make. Quite frankly, I was cold, I had just let loose a veritable flood inside of a woman who is far too devious for her own good, and there was a rather evil albeit handsome example of the half of the population that I have zero sexual interest in standing a few feet away. How the fuck am I still hard right now? It was a perfect three minutes of stillness, before the entire world seemed to explode into motion and noise.

"What the fuck, Creu!" Shalba screamed out, his eyes still wide to the point of cartoonish exaggeration. I lunged at the bed, my supernaturally enhanced body executing a flawless leap over Katarea's prone body that, in any other scenario, I would be quite proud of, and reached for the covers, balling my fists up in luxurious satin that I promptly pulled closer to myself and my... whatever Katerea is to me, I suppose. Okay; dick is no longer out, Kat's modesty, or whatever twisted version of it remained at this point, was preserved, and I am slightly less cold. I can work with this.

"Hey, uh, Shalba, buddy. You nap off the fight yet?" I said, my rather pitiful attempt at levity falling on obviously deaf ears. The last three minutes, this blue screen had been following me, and Shalba hasn't reacted to it at all, his gaze staying firmly glued at me. I'm fucking naked, dude. Not cool. As annoying as having one of the cruelest Devils in the show stare at my schlong was, it was certainly better than him noticing weird magical screens. He simply closed his eyes, his hand reaching for the bridge of his nose as he exhaled harshly. Yeah, me too, asshole.

"Creu, what are you doing?" He asked in what was obviously a faked calm. I just sort of stared at him with a deadpan look. "I really don't think I need to answer that, Shalba; I think you're a grown man and can answer that question for yourself, no?" I responded. If he wants to play it cool, well fuck that, I can play it cool too! The Beelzebub heir's eyes open, and I can already see a glint of insanity in them. This will likely be, to quote a famous mobile home resident from my universe, 'all sorts of fucked.'

"Creu," he began, with the kind of sickly sweet voice that practically begged me to reach for my weapon and my underwear in the same breath. "I'm not concerned that you and Kat are having sex. Quite frankly you two have been giving each other the googly-eyes for fucking years now. In fact, I'm happy for you two. It's a lovely thing and I'm sure your children will be strong. What is decidedly not lovely, and what I am absolutely not happy for, is the fact that you two decided to have a violent romp in my fucking bedroom!"

His bedroom? I thought this was just a guest room! I look around, taking in the actual room for the first time since Kat had dragged me in here. There's a nightstand that's practically empty, the bed that we had spent hours defiling, and above the mantle of the small but gorgeous fireplace, a painted portrait of... the original Beelzebub. Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. Yeah, that could probably be a problem. Before Shalba, who is looking increasingly upset with each sentence, can reach for my neck and do his best Randle McMurphy impression, I push one hand out, Rubicante smacking into my open palm from across the room and open a teleportation circle, dropping myself, my sentient weapon, my sort-of girlfriend/love thrall and several thousand dollars worth of satin sheets into a bed that is decidedly not Shalba's.

In fact, it's mine. We're in my bedroom, which entails several magical locks that I had installed the previous day. Hopefully that can keep the big bad angry entomologist from removing my twig and berries from the rest of my body. Alright, crisis averted, or at least pushed off to a latter date, now what to do with Kat? A few experimental pokes and prods doesn't do much at all to wake her. In fact, she latches onto my wrist, unconsciously drawing me closer to her snoozing form. As much as I would love to spend an eternity around or preferably inside her, I'd really prefer not to do it when she's liable to drool on my face.

Calling her name softly in her ear doesn't seem to do the trick either, and after a moment, I give up. Who cares anyways? She, and quite frankly all of us, could do with a nap anyhow. Decision made, I stand up, my body protesting softly as I stretch out the myriad kinks and aches that permeate all throughout. The battle with Cacus on its own wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world, and though the sex was good, I am weary down to my bone. Slowly but surely, I let my eyes close, as sleep overtakes my exhausted body.

It must have been morning when I awoke, because the lamps in my room were the brightest they had ever been. Rather ingenious trick, really; they can almost mimic the level of brightness that natural sunlight would give off corresponding to the particular hour of day. Blearily, I wipe the crust from my eyes, shifting carefully so as to not disturb the obviously still-asleep body of my partner. It's a difficult thing, extracting my left arm from underneath her entirely without shifting her body too much. My right is easier, tucked between her ribs and her elbow, but it comes out rather slimy. Yes, it was just as bad as I feared; Kat drools like none other.

I'd like to say that I walked out of that room with the grace and swagger of an Ultimate-class Devil, perfectly assured in my own strength and presence. I'd like to say that, but of course I can't. Instead, I can say that I slinked out of my bedroom and into the cafeteria of our base like a rat with a piece of cheese, all furtive glances and sticking to shadows. Am I scared of being caught by Shalba? Yes, somewhat. I don't want to know what that man can do with a swarm of bees when he's motivated, and if that makes me a coward, I will point out that discretion is the better part of valor.

After a few very tense minutes of crawling around and an incredibly inefficient route to the main hall, I am finally at my destination. An empty table, a 32 ounce mug of the strongest, blackest tea that was available, and a map. A map of where, you may ask? Well, Romania is rather nice this time of year. The lovely cerulean waters of the Danube Delta, the brisk and refreshing ski resorts of Poiana Brasov, and of course, what I'm sure will be a lively date with our garlic-fearing cousins over in the above-world.

If you think I'm going to let that creepy old geezer Rizevim get his hands on the most bullshit hack power in this whole God(ow)damn universe, you must not be paying attention.


	8. Definitely Some Brakes On The Coochie Train

Chartering a flight to Romania wasn't terribly difficult. While on paper we are allied with both the Hero Faction and Nilrem, neither of them particularly like us in general, or certainly me specifically. Memories of a life not my own reminded me of a certain incident involving Walburga, a bottle of very expensive wine, and many, many loads of soiled and subsequently burned laundry. Huh, guess even before my transmigration Creu didn't care much about miscegenation. Regardless, I'll have to keep my wits about me the next time I do actually attend a Khaos Brigade meeting; I don't need that sort of drama when Katerea is still freshly fucked and probably snoozing.

Conveniently enough, for all the kvetching about the inferiority of the Human world, the Old Satan Faction does in fact have a very comfortable joint account set up with some European bank or another, which means I have access to a long line of credit and paperwork that will allow me to travel regularly. According to the rather official looking passport currently nestled in my breast pocket, my name is Christoph Asmodey, a 33-year old citizen of Switzerland. I'm not sure which clever bastard decided to give me a name with a decidedly Christian etymology, but it's not giving me a headache the same way the Asshole Formerly Upstair's name would, so I suppose it's fine at the end of the day.

The flight itself wasn't too terrible, a teleportation circle taking me from the Khaos Brigade in the Underworld to a remote little town in Germany. From there, it had been a series of comfortable train rides, first into the Alps, then to Zurich, and finally a plane to Bucharest. Why the mundane travel? A number of reasons, really. For one, it had been my first time back to Earth. It may not have been my Earth, but it was Earth nonetheless. Things looked close enough, though the names of leaders and celebrities were slightly shifted around. Secondly, I'm certain enough that superhuman methods of travel were being watched, if not by the Devils then at least whichever local faction ruled where I was at. In Germany, it would have been a mix of the Church and Nordic pantheons. Here? Vampires, and more of them than I had anticipated. It seems my rather limited understanding of this universe from back home didn't do justice to the sheer scale of... well, everything.

I hadn't been off the plane and walking around Bucharest for more than an hour before I had spotted the first of our distant cousins, though she wasn't the last. Slightly paler than average, always hooded or heavily clothed, with an aura that could at times beckon humans closer or drive them to keep a distance, and predominantly long black hair. Without my own attuned sense to the supernatural, they would have fit right into normal society, more or less. At least, until the sun fell. Then, I imagine, it would be open season on unlucky humans. Lucky for me, I haven't been human for at least a week now, and the Malebranche, currently a rather fashionable cane, stored in my luggage would mean that any blood-sucker around would find themselves in a rather unpleasant situation.

That first vampire had been simply walking down the streets, though there were others certainly around. I could feel at least half a dozen within a few hundred meters, and I'm no sensor so I'm sure that there were plenty more to be found in the nooks and crannies of this old city. If they wanted me to see them, I could see them. If they didn't, well I'm sure they had a reason for that. The same way I have a reason to be here, loading around an expensive duffle bag with a week's worth of clothing instead of cuddling at home with Katerea. I wonder if I should get her something while I'm here? I'm sure even Devil women like chocolate or roses or something. Maybe a thrall? Marius should be amping up to reach out to old Lucy Jr anytime soon, and it's not like the Tepes or the Camilla will be of any relevance after tonight. Much to think about, certainly.

It didn't take too terribly long to find a hotel for the next few days, nor was it difficult to rent a vehicle for the duration of my stay here. As much as one can enjoy a good mind-control spell here and there, nothing that magic could ever come up with sways the mind quite like a little strip of plastic and a fistful of bills. When I had settled into my room for the night, carefully organizing my bags around me and inscribing a few runic arrays for protection around my room, I simply sat on the bed, still clad in the same business casual attire that I had walked into the country with. Dark pants, grey bordering on black, with a light grey dress shirt tucked into them; a simple grey overcoat keeping me warm in the chilly September air. The boots had come off as soon as I had walked in, a lifetime of taking my shoes off when entering a domicile forcing my hand before I had even realized that I had unlaced my shoes. Well, nothing else for it.

The first few rings were carried out in silence, before a decidedly unamused voice answered the line. "Where the hell are you?" Her tone was flat, no audible anger in her voice, but I knew that could be infinitely worse. Before I could stop myself, a nervous chuckle had exited my mouth. Poor move on my part. "Oh, do you find that funny, Creu?" She nearly whispered, before I finally responded. "Good morning, Kat." I drawled out, careful to keep my tone as friendly and light as possible. "I'm in Romania right now, I had a little business to attend to here. I'll be back soon, don't worry about it, alright? I just need to pick a few things up, I've even got a few surprises for you when I return."

Her surprised silence lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough that I knew I was on my way to being out of the doghouse, at the very least. "Stay safe, Creu. When you get back, we need to talk." I nodded absentmindedly, scratching at my chin in thought for a moment before replying. "I know, Kat, I know. I'll be home soon, and we can go over everything. And," I paused, swallowing rather nervously for a moment, "I mean everything." It's a good thing Devils are sinners already, because that was a fat lie, of course. It wouldn't be everything, after all I doubt she'd like to hear that her lover was being possessed by an otherworldly spirit out to right some sort of nebulous multiversal wrong at a whim. But, to her, everything meant our... relationship, if it could be called as such, and certainly she deserved that much. I would come home when this ordeal was finished, and we would figure out where we stood, where Shalba stood, where the OSF stood, and where we would go moving forwards. With that arduous task completed, I simply went to bed.

Or rather, I attempted to go to bed. In reality, I was under the covers for all of fifteen minutes before a rather professional knock rang across the surface of my door. Obviously, I hadn't called for anyone to disturb me, and nobody besides Kat and Shalba knew that I was here. Perfect, they had sought me out before I had to go search for them. Rising smoothly from the bed, it was the work of a snap of the fingers to change my attire to something more fitting for my bloodthirsty guests, Rubicante rising from its place atop my nightstand to come into my grasp. The feeling of the Malebranche making contact with my palm was as silent as it could be, yet to me it always felt like a thunderclap, a proclamation. "I am here!" It would say, an exultation of the terrible power held within its frame.

A few long strides took me to the door, a few mundane latches sliding open as I undid some, albeit not all, of the magical protections surrounding me. As the door swung open, I was faced with a rather handsome visage. He looked young, younger than me at least, dark brows and a smooth and docile visage staring across from me. "I don't recall ordering room service," I said to the teen, for he could have been no older than such. He simply stared back, almost dull in how expressionless he seemed. "My master wishes to see you." He replied. Well, wasn't that just convenient? Nodding, I gently closed the door in front of me, careful to make no motion that could be construed as beckoning him in. Odd bit of trivia, that whole excluded unless invited thing that the Vampires had going on. But hey, who am I to judge? I can't even say certain three letter expressions without the mother of all Aspirin advertisements cock-slapping me behind the eyes. A secondary snap of my fingers had the contents of my luggage packed back into my bag, which in turn was slung carefully across one shoulder. With my keys pocketed and Rubicante still grasped loosely in hand, I simply opened the window and jumped down.

I was situated somewhere on the fourth floor of a rather chic hotel, so the drop was quieted more with magic than any sort of grace or poise. Regardless, by the time I had straightened and stood to my full height, the boy was standing across from me, still as the grave as he first watched and then followed me into the parking garage. I even had the manners to open the door for the freakish little brat, ushering him into the rented sedan that was my main form of transportation for the duration of my trip. "Is there a street address or am I going to take directions from the squishy mannequin?" I asked, noting how his face hadn't shown even the slightest signs of consternation or offense at my insult. Truly a well-trained thrall, after all. The boy simply turned to me, one arm snaking out gracefully to input the directions into my onboard GPS. Oh? Well isn't that just cute. "Buckle up, kid." I said, peeling out of the parking garage and onto the street.

You know how sometimes life imitates art, and things are simply too funny to be true? Yeah, that's what's going on right about now. After forty-five minutes, we've arrived at our destination, a rather nondescript building with what I'm sure is a teleportation circle or a tunnel, or some other route towards the main Lodge where the Vampires would live. What's so special about an abandoned? Well, not too much. Except, I'm pretty sure there was a Korean restaurant less than two blocks away. I wonder if the Vampires know that the bridge to their underworld is within walking distance of a god(ow, really need to get used to that!)damn garlic symposium. I've been to a few of those places in a past life and even my nose could pick up the smell of Manul Changachi a mile away. Odd, our cousins are. The car rolls to a gentle stop, and I depart, leaving my bag in the backseat but very obviously picking up Rubicante and carrying it with me as we depart. The thrall either ignores it altogether or doesn't care, which seems a bit lackadaisical, but who am I to judge? I'm the one that left my comfy house, with my comfy girlfriend and my comfy bedsheets to go traipse around in some cold European hell-hole. Maybe I'm the weird one here.

My steps are kept short, mostly out of respect for my much shorter companion, but in practically no time at all we've passed through the doors of the two-story building, taking a meandering approach down a hallway and a flight of stairs before the young man beckons me, arm out-stretched like some freakishly pale butler, to a waiting teleportation circle. Well, nothing for it, I suppose. I give the thrall a grin that I'm sure is less rogueish and more deeply uncomfortable, before stepping forward. One small step for a Devil, one great leap for- oh wow, this is so cliche as to hurt. A castle, really?

It turns out, yes, they can in fact be that cliche. At least, more or less. It's certainly grand enough to be one, ornamental rugs and gold gilding lining the stone brick walls that seem to stretch out forever into the darkness. A row of vampires languish contendedly on either side of me, some standing while others are, amusingly enough, using Thralls as human furniture, laid out nursing goblets of what I'm sure isn't wine while they recline across the backs of their slaves. The only furniture other than a few braziers and coffins - their beds, I later belatedly realize, is a massive wooden throne. It sits atop a slightly raised platform, a great gnarled monstrosity that looks more like some kind of half-completed Dali painting than a chair. Nevertheless, it's some sort of chair, otherwise why would the King Tepes be seated in it?

"Good afternoon," I announce, my voice kept as smooth and as genial as ever. The vampires around me, all pure-bloods I'm sure, seem to scoff at my greeting, turning back after a moment to attend to their little political games. Tepes, on the other hand, simply looks down at me, literally as well as metaphorically I'm sure. "Greetings, Devil. What brings you to my Kingdom unannounced?" He asks, his voice like a sibilant whisper. I thought vampires were supposed to be all about bats, why does he sound like a snake? Voldemort impersonations aside, I stiffen slightly, my free hand coming across my chest as I bow in a salute to the Vampire monarch. As I brought down my head, my long hair forming twin curtains around my head, I cast my eyes from side to side, taking a quick tally of visible guards. There's a few dozen, nothing insane to deal with. Hopefully, I won't need to, but everyone here saw me walking in with Rubicante so it can't be helped that they know I'm armed.

"King Tepes, I apologize for my abrupt visit. I found myself in a spot of wanderlust, and thought, who better to see than the grand monarch of all Vampires?" I compliment him, noting with no small amount of revulsion that his pale, stricken face twists up in some mockery of a smile at the empty words. A dullard, no doubt. It's of no surprise that Marius was able to supplant him so easily. "I find myself grateful for your warm welcome, your Majesty. You have been nothing but helpful in guiding me towards your home. Your grace is appreciated, and I hope to repay it in kind." I respond. He looks down at me, the small smile all that conceals the obvious boredom in his eyes. Still, the tell-tale glint of greed is clear to see at the sign of a gift. "And what have you brought me for my troubles, Devil? What offering do you bring to King Tepes, rightful King of Vampires?" He asks, leaning forward just a hair.

He's a disgusting sort of creature, that's to be sure. If I can go as far as to make judgement on their race, they all are. Vile, twisted creatures at the end of the day, preying on humanity for no other reason than because they can. But, I realize with the sort of clarity that comes only rarely and fleetingly, so are the Devils. And then, then I had an idea. A beautiful, twisted, dark idea. I think I've figured out how I'm going to deal with this mess. Well, not just this mess. The whole mess of Devil society, and really most of the Supernatural. This whole time, I've been fretting over people like Sirzechs and Ajuka, the Phenex and Bael, the so-called reformed Devil Society as a whole. There's the normal evils to deal with, Rizevim and his kind, and certainly villains around such as Kokabiel who would make my journey here difficult. But what if I don't need to deal with them? What if I simply... shine a light on the way these High-class beings act? Maybe, maybe I don't need to fight Sirzechs and surely die for my troubles. Maybe I don't need to fight him at all; maybe I can let the entirety of natural-born Devil Society fight him for me?

Initially, I had planned to come here, certain that Marius had not reached out to Rizevim and supplanted his father yet. Initially, I would grease him with gifts and leave with Valerie, spinning a tale that she was far past her usefulness. Already, I'm sure that she's suffered a break in her mental state, withdrawing into a comatose state as Tepes and his son had extracted as much as they could from Sephirot Graal. The original plan was to paint her as useless, a curiosity for a sadisitic Devil in exchange for all numbers of favors with the Khaos Brigade as a whole. In a way, I had been banking on Marius's needs to reach Rizevim in order to steal her out from all of them. But now? Now, this could be the start of something beautiful. Hey Sirzechs, what's way more scary than Trihexa? Public fucking Relations campaigns.

"I brought your favorite thing, Tepes." I spit out. "Blood." And then all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, finally finished porting all of this from my FFN/QQ accounts. Anyways, yeah I'm not dead, and I'm writing again. Please read and review!


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